It's a Goddamn Clip Show

One of the best worst parts about The Simpsons is their clip shows. While they poke fun at the way that they just throw together half a plot with a bunch of their best stuff, we all know that it's the proverbial bye week of Sunday night animation. I haven't committed to watching an episode of The Simpsons for a few years, so if I caught a clip show, I would be hard pressed to understand the references. The good news about The Simpsons is that they are pretty good at being funny in context and out of context. I hope that my life is like that because it's been three weeks since I've written anything and I've got some feels to catch up with my zero followers.

I've been trying to shy away from Facebook. I deleted the app, but I still check the mobile site a bit, but with decreased functionality. I make a few posts here and there, but not with the sass and voraciousness that I used to...for a few reasons. First, the "On this day," function seriously messes me up sometimes, but I can't help but look at it. I often see things from before I started treating for my depression and anxiety, and I feel really upset at the notion that I was clearly crying out for help and no one saved me...including me...until a lot of damage had been done. Now, coming from a place of emotional sobriety, I can say that no one is ever going to save me but me, but damn...it's sad to think that all of the people that were closest to me didn't see that I was out of control. I also see a lot of posts from my relationship with my ex-husband. I have spoken openly about the immense anger that I still feel, and these images don't help. I'm not sure if other people feel this way when they've been in adulterous situations, but when you look back on your life with that person, you start to question every single move that was ever made. Was that person fucking someone else (or better yet, having emotional affairs and acting like it isn't adultery) when they did this? Or when we went on this vacation? Or when I was in the hospital? Or...is anything that they've ever said ever really been true at all? So, recounting situations where you've laughed and had jokes...only to question if it was ever sincere and if you looked like a total fool the entire time you were together...really blows. It also translates to shit interactions with the person when you do deal with them and you end up saying things that aren't helpful or productive...even if you feel them and they're true. I mean, hypothetically, of course.

Okay, second reason for a Facebook detox is that I seriously cannot handle political debate anymore. The polarized country that we live in has put me in a position to have my opinions, express them in safe spaces and not even come CLOSE to talking about it in a place where I might be challenged and/or someone wants to start an argument. Because...I just don't want to, and isn't that enough? I know that I want the world to be a better place for people that haven't been born yet, and we're either going to make our decisions that favor that...or we're not.

I spent a considerable amount of time in the city in the last three weeks and it has solidified, more than ever, the desire that I have to move there. I went to a new coffee spot that a friend has talked about and I was immediately taken from a ten to a three when I walked in the door. I was with someone when I went, but I had insanely perverted fantasies about sitting there with a book for six hours and drinking seventeen cups of jasmine tea. I also took it up a notch and thought about soft rain beating against the window, Morrissey's solo albums playing while I read...and then Morrissey himself walking through the door and asking me what my thoughts were about what tracks should go in a collector's box set. As I recounted this fantasy to a friend in a email earlier this week, I said, "In the words of Judy Tenuta...Hey, it could happen!" I also fantasize about having a studio apartment with a murphy bed or a fold-out couch and complete control of my surroundings. I haven't had that kind of freedom since the dorm, and that's weird to admit to myself. I often feel the sting of jealousy that comes when people tell me they have their own space...specifically, their own living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom...and my mind runs away with images of me dancing around to a Ravi Shankar album in a basement apartment in Bloomfield. At thirty-three, I never imagine that my mind would run away with me like this, but it's beautiful and sad all at the same time.

But, according to my revelation of my life path number, it seems aligned to my destiny. I always had a passing interest in numerology, as it seems more than coincidental that numbers crop up in our lives in repeating ways. It was interesting to me that my mother chose to select names for me that allowed me to have repeating letters in my first, middle and last names. Although at the time, she probably thought that it was cool, I'm finding that the alignment of this to my lifetime of being drawn to the number two made sense. And now, I've learned that my life path number is 11...or 11/2 (as 1+1=2). Elevens are said to be intuitive in a way that no other number is, and possess a great deal of energy that calms people, while still not being calm in their own bodies (WORD). Elevens also have been said to be gifted artistically in ways that manifest in music, dance, writing, etc. They also find success in later life (fifties plus) and do not seem to have their lives fall into place until much later than others.

Listen, Universe, if you're listening...give me a sign that you're just making this whole eleven thing happen...and I could possibly exhale for once in my goddamned life. 

My numerological profile seemed to be so insanely accurate that I looked behind my should to see if I was being punk'd and Ashton Kutcher's stupid face and Von Dutch hat was looking out from behind a curtain. That if, right in this moment, I was seeing exactly what I needed to see in order to make this actual spot in my life more bearable to get to the plane of existence that I feel I have been seeking my entire life. So, if the Universe is saying to be patient...I will work on it, but I am not sure that I am going to make any promises.

Is this my proverbial bye week? Is this the time that I rest while no real progress is made only to pick up again at a later day and time to continue on my path to elevenhood? Like The Simpsons clip show, I hope that these little pieces stand alone as funny, romantic, hopeful, sweet, sincere, and poignant...even if just for me.